


The Wrong Lyrics

by ourladyholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Song Lyrics, Uni!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyholmes/pseuds/ourladyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is travelling on the tube one morning he hears a stranger singing one of his favourite songs, and he isn't too impressed when the man gets a few lyrics wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Lyrics

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from a tumblr Au post and I instantly felt I could make a short story about it. It was so much fun to write because normally I write really angsty Johnlock stuff so this was a lovely change of pace! Big thanks to one of my dearest friends who helped me pick the second song for this, I would be lost without you. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this! Love you all cherubs.  
> \- S

Sherlock was late. Sherlock was never late.

Normally he would either be up at six in the morning having slept for a short period of time or he wouldn't have had any sleep whatsoever. However having no sleep for about four days had finally taken it's toll on Sherlock's body and he'd collapsed in a heap onto his bed, in his average sized flat. Sherlock had been actually rather enjoying his dreams of chasing murderers down darkened alleyways when his alarm clock had pierced his eardrum. He groaned for a moment, pulling the covers of his quilt over his head and borrowing down into his bed sheets. Then the realisation hit and Sherlock was leaping out of his bed and rushing around his room in sheer panic.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He cursed as he hurried to swap his two day old clothes over for some fresh ones. Didn't he have a presentation today? "Oh fuck!"

Out of all the days he could have chosen to be late it had to be this one. Sherlock was meant to be presenting to his chemistry professor today about the production of crystals. It was a topic Sherlock found utterly dull and though he had protested against the presentation it was made clear to him that if he didn't go through with it his final grades would suffer majorly. So he had agreed to undergo the tedious task and had actually done much to ensure he was given the best grade possible. His chemistry professor wasn't hugely fond of him and Sherlock knew this presentation would definitely help him get back into his good books. Though Sherlock didn't actually care whether he failed or passed University, he already had a degree in Chemical engineering from Cambridge, nevertheless his mother had insisted that he try and get another degree in Biochemistry.

His buttons unevenly done up, his hair still chaotic, an absence of clean teeth and running on an empty stomach, Sherlock dashed down the stairs of his flat, ignoring the pleas from his land lady about having breakfast with her. Mrs. Hudson was a lovely woman, a second mother to Sherlock, but she was constantly fussing over Sherlock to eat more and sometimes it irritated him highly. She often insisted that they eat breakfast together and Sherlock would often humor the lady. Today was different though. He definitely didn't have the time today.

Sherlock darted out of 221B and took off for Baker street station which was down the road. No chance in hell am I taking a cab at this time in the morning he thought to himself bitterly. London was an absolute nightmare to navigate around in rush hour and though the tube tended to get overly crowded at times, he knew it would be quicker and cheaper than taking a cab to the Imperial College.

The tube was deranged as any other day in London. People were swarming the tunnels which lead to the trains, huge queues were forming at the barriers in the station and literally everyone was getting on Sherlock's last nerve. He hated being in such close proximity as people. He despised public transport for making him endear people's germs, their constant chatter and the loud blast of people's unwanted music through their ridiculously big headphones. Which then reminded Sherlock that he had in fact left his own ear phones back at his flat and he cursed himself again. Without the comfort of his music to drain out the idiotic people around him, he eagerly barreled down the overly crowded tube escalators and towards the Piccadilly line, more desperate than ever just to get to the University and get this tiresome presentation over with.

When the train finally rolled into the platform, Sherlock felt slightly more relieved... but then he glanced at his wrist watch and the panic draped around him like a blanket again. He was already ten minutes late for his presentation. He bounded through the doors of the tube train and hurried to an empty sit, ignoring the pissed off looks on the other passengers faces. He didn't care if one of them wanted to sit down, he had gotten here first.

The tube pulled out of the station and he leaned back in his seat with a sigh of satisfaction at how quiet the tube was. No many people had chats on the tube, it wasn't a time for social etiquette. Unless of course you were intoxicated with alcohol then that was an entirely different story. Sherlock enjoyed the quietness of the tube, he normally would enjoy it more with his earphones but the tube was quiet enough for his liking today. He closed his eyes for a moment, let the silence soothe him, when he heard a low voice singing across from him. Immediately irritated Sherlock's eyes flew open and glared icily at the culprit.

The man couldn't have been much older than him. He was wearing light blue jeans, a dark brown jumper with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, in normal circumstances Sherlock would have been repulsed by the jumper, but there was something about the stranger that made it look good. Sherlock also then noticed that his shoulders were stocky and looked strong so Sherlock could tell he was an athlete of some sort. . The man was wearing a vivid red pair of converse and he had a brown leather jacket slung of his right shoulder. His foot was tapping along to the music was which was playing in his earphones. He had sandy blonde hair, which was short and messy. His cheeks were slightly flushed, most likely from the warmth of the tube train, they did tend to overheat far too much for Sherlock's liking. But it wasn't until Sherlock looked into the stranger's eyes that he truly felt captivated. They were a very light shade of blue, as light as the sky in the morning, they showed kindness and hope. Traits which Sherlock had never known anyone in his life possessed. The stranger was still singing and Sherlock could now only make out the tune.

We Built This City by Starship. One of Sherlock's favourites coincidentally. Sherlock listened in wonder as the strangers voice carried him into a world of his own.

 _'We built this city, we built this city on rock an' roll_  
_Built this city, we built this city on rock an' roll_

 _Say you don't know me, or recognize my face_  
_Say you don't care who goes to that kind of place_  
_Knee deep in the hoopla, sinking in your fight_  
_Too many runaways eating up the night_

_**My pony** plays the mamba, listen to the radio, don't you remember_

_We built this city, we built this city on rock an' roll'!'_

Sherlock, who had been enjoying the man's quiet singing, felt himself tense in utter disappointment at the lyrical mistake he had made. The man was still singing and for the first time in Sherlock's life he really didn't want to correct him... But he did anyway. 

"You got the lyrics wrong," Sherlock said loudly, making direct eye contact with the stranger. 

"I'm sorry?" The man answered back frowning with confusion. 

"You got the lyrics wrong. It's Marconi plays the mamba, not my pony plays the mamba," 

"No it's not," 

Sherlock felt shock overtake him for a moment. No one ever argued with Sherlock Holmes. Nobody. Yet here was a complete stranger arguing over a bloody song lyric. Amused, Sherlock lifted one of his eyebrows and plastered a mocking expression onto his usually lifeless face. 

"Yes it is, why in God's name would the words be my pony? That doesn't make any sense in the song whatsoever!" 

"Neither does Marconi!"

"Marconi makes far more sense than my pony, only an imbecile would make the lyrics my pony!"

"Well then I guess you're looking at an imbecile!" The stranger's mouth had curled into an odd looking grin and Sherlock felt a small smile on his own lips. The man then popped the music back in his ear and returned to his singing. Sherlock couldn't help but listen in again. The man's next choice of song was Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi. 

 _'It's all the same, only the names will change_  
_Everyday it seems we're wasting away_  
_Another place where the faces are so cold_  
_I'd drive all night just to get back home_

_I'm a **convoy** , on a steel horse I ride  
I'm wanted dead -'_

"Oh for goodness sake, can you not sing a single song without making a lyrical mistake?" Sherlock hissed at him, interrupting the man from his singing.

"Jesus what was wrong with it this time?" 

"You said convoy, you actually said convoy instead of cowboy,"

"Well it is convoy?"

Sherlock slapped his hands over his face in frustration. He could feel the stares of the other passengers but he didn't care. For once in his life he didn't care. 

"How stupid are you? A convoy means armed vehicles accompanying a normal vehicle for protection, therefore once again you have managed to use a word completely out of context from the song,"

"Are you always this rude?" The stranger asked him a smile still somehow present on his face. 

"The majority of the time yes,"

The man paused and stared at him for a moment before saying:

"The lyric isn't wrong,"

"The lyric is wrong! You are wrong! You would think someone who has such a lovely voice would be able to sing a song properly,"

"You think I have a lovely voice?"

"Well of course I do its-" Sherlock stopped dead. His cheeks went rosy and he dropped his gaze to his hands. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse and dripping with embarrassment. "That's besides the point I'm trying to make though,"

The man suddenly started laughing and Sherlock's head snapped up to stare in wonder. His laugh was light, full of breeze and elation. His eyes were crinkled with delight. Sherlock lost his breath over the sight. He had never seen anyone look so happy over an argument before. In fact he had never seen the kind of light which radiated in the strangers eye's. 

"My name's John. John Watson," The man, now known as John, reached his hand out for Sherlock to shake. Sherlock felt his eyes widen at the gesture but he didn't turn it down. Their hands grasped tightly around one and others and they shook. "Would you do me the pleasure of letting me know of your name?" 

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat. He didn't understand what was happening. He wasn't the sort of man who had conversations like this with others. His eyes darted around the tube train and could see the annoyed looks of the other passengers who were trying hard to ignore the loud pair. Sherlock almost laughed, because normally he was one of those people but look at him now! 

"The name's Sherlock Holmes," He said confidently meeting John's eyes again. 

John's eyes flickered with amazement for a moment and his face seemed to brighten even more. If there was one way that Sherlock would describe John right now it would be that he was a conductor of light simply because he seemed to bright and animated. He had never seen anyone so light spirited... And he adored it. 

"I know you! Well, I know of you! You go to Imperial College?" 

"Yes... Yes I do, how did you-"

This time it was John who interrupted him. 

"You're the guy who blew up one of the Chemistry labs in the second week of term right?" 

Oh good god. Sherlock couldn't have been more red in that moment. He gave a weak laugh and his eyes began to shift nervously. John noticed the nervousness of Sherlock and his grin stretched even more. He had liked Sherlock Holmes the moment he had heard about him from Mike Stamford. It seemed unreal he was sat here having an actual conversation with the legendary man himself. 

"You're an absolute hero around the campus you know, the other students have been saying for months how you blew up one of the worst labs on the campus, which also happened to belong to one of the worst professors on the campus as well. I mean he left after it happened, the other students kept saying how grateful they were towards you because he was such a twat," 

"... You don't think it was wrong of me?"

"Christ no! It was bloody brilliant!" 

"That's not how the teacher's reacted,"

"What did they say?"

"Piss off!"

They both erupted in laughter than, both men going red faced and clutching their sides. The rest of the train journey continued this way. John and Sherlock talking about things which Sherlock would have before deemed as trivial. Once they reached South Kensington they got off together and made the walk to the campus. 

"So what are you studying anyway?" John asked as they neared the campus. His face was still bright with happiness from their conversation on the tube and he felt lighter than he had done in years. 

"Biochemistry, what about yourself?" 

"I am trying to earn my Bachelor in Science actually,"

"Oh really? You want to become a doctor?" Sherlock stared down at the man beside him. Though John was two years older than him, John being twenty and Sherlock being eighteen, Sherlock was still fair taller than him which had at first irritated John when they had exited the tube. 

John nodded at him happily, turning his gaze up to Sherlock's face. Sherlock froze. His heart quickened and he willed the blood not to go running back up to his cheeks. He had only just met John, it was ridiculous how he was reacting towards him. 

They were at the campus gates now and it dawned on Sherlock that he was now an hour late for his presentation. He bite his lip in frustration, not wanting to leave John but not wanting to let his grades slip. He heard John sigh from his side. 

"I need to go to class, my professor says if I don't pick up my grades there's no way I can pass the year," John bite out, his jaw going tense and his hand tightening on his shoulder bag. 

"Ha, ditto," 

John looked up at Sherlock in awe and then his face transformed into something so sweet it made Sherlock's heartache. Sherlock felt he could have stood there and stared at John for hours but he knew he couldn't. 

"I guess I better go then," 

Sherlock watched as John turned to walk towards the opposite side of the campus. He didn't want to part with John. He didn't want to lose this precious person. 

"John!" He called out quickly. His cheeks were going crimson at the suggestion in his head but it was the only thing he could think of. 

"Yes?"

"Would you er... Would you erm... like to go for dinner? After classes have finished?" 

Sherlock felt himself tense. Ready for John to say no thank you and turn politely away from him.

"God yes," John breathed out instantly. The smile on his face was marvelous and Sherlock felt himself being blinded by his sheer beauty. "And I know just the place we can go!"

"Oh?" 

"The Hard rock Cafe!"

Sherlock groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. John just laughed at him mockingly.

"Fine, fine, just promise you will actually sing the lyrics properly?" 

"I'm afraid to say I promise nothing!" John called cheekily over his shoulder as he began to flounce away.

"Twat!" Sherlock yelled at him in mock anger as he grew further away. 

"You love me really!" 

Sherlock stood there chuckling as he watched John skip away from him. He didn't deny John's last statement, because even though they had only just met, Sherlock knew in his heart that it was true. He was already in love with John Watson, the boy who could sing so beautifully but couldn't remember lyrics for shit. 


End file.
